


Lunch

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto doesn’t even make a coffee in this.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 27
Kudos: 160





	Lunch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [star54kar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/star54kar/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Chocobeans is a decent place to work—Prompto gets along with most of the staff, finds the drinks easy enough to make, and loves the chocobo motif splashed all over the small coffee shop’s walls. A few of his own blown-up photos are hung amidst them, something Ignis helped him negotiate, and it still brings him both embarrassment and pride. They have a decent location on a main road, and most of the customers are nice to Prompto—the tip jar rarely goes untouched while he’s at the helm. Sometimes he thinks Isa assigns him there on purpose—Kairi often jokes he’d be wasted in the back. Other times, Lea hogs the register all day, which is fine, because Lea gets even more tips, probably because he’s willing to flirt with absolutely anybody. 

Prompto doesn’t flirt on purpose. He just tries to be friendly and do his job. He even cleans the counter after the morning rush during the midday lull—something Isa pointedly notes Lea never does. Demyx laughs at him for scrubbing off the coffee stains, but Prompto’s determined to keep on management’s good side. He needs this job. He needs to be able to keep up with all the new camera gadgets that come out and mounting college tuition, not to mention whatever his friends want to do on the weekend—they don’t even seem to realize how _rich_ they are, and he won’t let them keep paying for him. He also won’t let them wake up and realize how dreadfully behind them he is. If he has to work a ten-hour shift five days a week just so he can chip in for renting out an entire arcade on Saturday, so be it. Whenever he thinks about those weekends, thinks about _any_ extra time with his friends, with his _prince_ , he smiles extra hard, and those tips keep coming. 

The little bell above the door rings, and Prompto whips the wet cloth back under the counter, straightening and grinning like a star. Then he sees who it is, and that sunny veneer becomes genuine. 

Noctis marches towards the counter, more determined than his usual lazy stroll, his hands balled into fists at his sides and his eyes burning. Prompto’s smile slips. The other customers scattered amongst different tables glance up as Noctis passes, which is inevitable, because he’s projecting a bristling cloud of omega pheromones that makes Prompto’s nostrils flare. 

Noctis reaches the counter, leans right over it, and mutters over Prompto’s preemptive ‘hi’, “Hey, sorry, I know you’re at work, but I have a council meeting in an hour that Iggy won’t let me skip, and all I can think about is our entire army of Kingsglaives plowing me, so _please_ tell me you have a break soon.”

Prompto’s face becomes a brighter pink than their fresh strawberry smoothie. He can’t tear his eyes away from Noctis’ blown-wide pupils, the flush on Noctis’ cheeks and the slight pout to his alluring lips—he’s always _hot_ : he’s the hottest bachelor in Insomnia. But he’s absolutely _irresistible_ when he’s in heat. He smells like sugar and sex and Prompto’s favourite cologne. It’s a good thing Prompto’s standing behind the counter, because being this close to his favourite person alive, exuding desperate fuck-me pheromones, is making him hard. His fogged brain reels over the schedule.

“Um, I... uh... my break’s not for another hour... sorry, bud... I can, uh... make you a mocha, or...?” What else does Noctis like? He should know that. He’s been for coffee with Noctis a thousand times. They’ve spent tons of afternoons in between classes, curled up on the couch outside the campus’ café, sipping drinks and playing King’s Knight. He knows Gladiolus likes black coffee and Ignis prefers a blended iced Ebony with almond milk and no whip. But he looks into Noctis’ gorgeous face and can only think about feeding Noctis his spit. 

Noctis gives him a needy look with giant, pleading eyes and a furrowed brow, like he’ll absolutely die if he doesn’t have an alpha all over him, and _Prompto’s the only alpha he wants._ Prompto swallows. 

Noctis suggests, “I’ll tip you a hundred.”

“Uh...”

He almost asks for what drink. Except Noctis clearly doesn’t want a drink. He wants a tall glass of Prompto. He’ll never know how incredibly flattered Prompto is by that. There’s half a dozen other alphas in the shop that probably have higher degrees and make more money and are bigger and stronger and just generally _better_ than Prompto, and Noctis is _the royal prince of Insomnia_ who deserves nothing but the very best.

He leans so far over the register that he must be standing on his tiptoes, and he ducks in to nose at Prompto’s neck and moan like a cat in heat. 

An omega in heat. Right in public. Not that Noctis ever cared much for propriety. Prompto can’t help but wonder if there are glaives patiently waiting outside, or if Noctis somehow escaped and they’re running amok through the city, trying to find their wayward prince. Noctis does occasionally pop by during Prompto’s shifts. He doesn’t stay. Prompto’s asked him not to. He’s too distracting, and it’s too embarrassing. It’s obvious that heat’s hit him _bad_. There’s no way he’ll make it to his meeting, no matter what an alpha does to him in the meantime. 

Prompto breaks and lifts a hand to card through Noctis’ soft hair. Noctis buries a moan in his throat. In that moment, Prompto knows he’s absolutely willing to walk away from this perfectly nice job, just on his perfect prince’s whim.

Someone clear their throat, and Prompto glances over his shoulder at Isa, giving him a dirty look, because technically, he’s on the clock. Two women have come in and lined up behind Noctis, ogling the hottie ahead of them while they wait. Prompto sheepishly pushes Noctis back. Isa dryly informs him, “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to order and—” But he cuts off mid-word, maybe because Noctis is glaring daggers at him, or maybe because he’s realized just who it is compromising his underling.

Isa stiffly corrects, “My apologies, Your Highness. If there’s anything we can do for you...?” 

Noctis’ hand slides across the counter. On instinct, Prompto joins it—Noctis fiercely grabs onto his wrist. Looking the manager dead in the eyes, Noctis orders, “I’m commandeering this barista on authority of the Crown.” 

Prompto almost snorts but holds his tongue. Noctis is _too cute._ Isa might’ve gone easy on him anyway once realizing that he’s an omega in heat—someone in need of help. But royal authority doesn’t hurt. Isa shifts back and awkwardly gestures to the door past the kitchen. “...I see, Your Highness... if you would, perhaps, prefer to use our break room instead of the floor...?” Clearly, Isa’s willing to do anything to get Noctis away from the counter. The alphas at the tables look about ready to go feral, the seated omegas clutching their heads as though to keep themselves from meeting Noctis’ heat with their own. Noctis sharply nods.

“That’ll do, citizen.”

Prompto really does snort. He’s so in love. He shifts their hands so he’s the one holding Noctis, and he guides Noctis around the other side of the counter, never once breaking contact. 

He takes Noctis into the break room around a lounging, bemused Lea who quickly vacates when he realizes what’s going on. Then Noctis is crumpling onto the couch, dragging Prompto down with him. Prompto crowds in so close that Noctis has to adjust and climb into his lap, warm thighs spreading around Prompto’s waist and toned arms looping around Prompto’s neck. As Prompto soothingly rubs Noctis’ back, some of the fire ebbs away, until Noctis is begrudgingly mumbling, “Sorry... I know you’re at work, and you like this job...”

“It’s okay, Noct.”

“Nah, it’s not—you never storm into the Citadel while I’m talking with dad or Clarus...” Ironically, though, Noctis probably would like it if he did. But Prompto never would. He doesn’t have heats that drive him to insanity, and even if he did, he has too much fear and awe for the Citadel. He pecks Noctis’ forehead anyway. 

“I’ll always make time for you. You’re number one.”

“I should just hire you as the royal consort.”

Prompto laughs. He imagines if that were a thing, hundreds, if not millions, of other alphas would line up—proper suitors with noble blood and Gladio-style six-packs and the world to offer Noctis. 

But Noctis comes to a scrawny barista obsessed with games and chocobos, and Prompto couldn’t love this omega more if he tried. _His_ omega.

He guides Noctis to him for a proper kiss—a big, full one on the lips, and lets his prince ride him right there on the staff room couch, because even if he gets fired tomorrow, the only thing that really matters is _Noctis._


End file.
